


dance, when you're broken open

by wekeepeachotherhuman



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Dancing, Gen, M/M, Pining, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 01:55:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8778520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wekeepeachotherhuman/pseuds/wekeepeachotherhuman
Summary: After a long day of physical therapy, Finn walks in on Poe dancing in his barracks.





	

They don’t tell you about the quiet moments of war. You hear about the battles, the heroics, and they’re supposed to motivate you, but nobody tells you that, it’s quietness and slow movements that hit the hardest. Nobody tells you that you have to watch yourself get more and more fucked up until the only battle that really matters in the one you fight with yourself. 

Nobody tells you that once you stop fighting the war, the war stays. Nobody tells you that it’s easier to forget who you are without the war in your blood than it is to forget strangers who died in front of you, fighting for a cause that’s different from yours. 

Sometimes, Finn forgets what he’s fighting for. Soldiers, they’re supposed to fight for things like family or freedom. But Finn doesn’t remember his family. He doesn’t remember the parents that he’d been torn away from. He doesn’t remember the way that  _ home _ is supposed to feel. And he sure as the gods doesn’t remember freedom. Freedom is a word that doesn’t sit right on his tongue, forced to feel that way through years of conditioning and discipline. 

And what makes matter worse? Slowly and painstakingly recovering only to put yourself back in that war that doesn’t even seem to matter anymore anyway. Physical therapy hasn’t exactly been going as well as Finn had hoped. He remembers the First Order. Physical therapy hadn’t really been a concept that he’d known about. If a cog in the wheel is broken, you replace that cog. You don’t try to fix it. But the Resistance tries to fix it. And Finn knows that this is the way that things should be done. A person isn’t replaceable the second they no longer have a use. People are worth fixing.  _ He’s worth fixing. _ And he knows he shouldn’t have to tell himself that as often as he does. He wants to believe it without having to hear it every day. 

He feels his back aching with every step as he makes his way towards his barracks. He hates that he’s still in pain, he hates that he still feels useless. After all this time, he should be stronger. He should be giving the Resistance  _ more. _ He feels a tightness in his chest, one that he can’t ignore, one that only allows him to think about how hard it is to swallow. He presses his hand to the print reader beside his barracks door without even thinking about it, almost on autopilot.

The door shwooshes open and he finally hears the music. 

It’s loud enough that he suddenly wonders how he hadn’t heard it sooner. Poe’s across the room with his back to him. He’s turned the overhead lights off and left on the desk light and a bedside lamp. The lighting is soft, throwing dark shadows across the floor. It reminds Finn of a bonfire. Warm light that always seems to make him feel a sort of calm that he never felt entitled to. 

Poe’s swaying slightly from side to side and Finn notices that Poe’s voice has joined whoever’s singing the song. It’s an artist Finn knows. Poe’s showed her to him before. She’s a singer from Yavin IV. Poe says that his parents had danced to her songs in the living room of their home when he was younger. He sings in a language that Finn doesn’t understand, but he knows what the song is about. Love; it seems like all songs are written about love. 

Finn hadn’t listened to much music growing up in the First Order. They hadn’t been permitted to. But every so often, troopers would smuggle knick-knacks and artifacts from the planets they were sent to on mission and sometimes, those knick-knacks would be dinky music players. That had always been the extent of Finn’s music knowledge. Until the Resistance. Until Rey, and Poe, and General Organa. He’d always liked the music he’d heard, if only because it served as some sort of glimpse into what he assumed was  _ normal life _ . 

Now, he liked it for entirely different reasons. Poe snaps his fingers as he sings. Finn smiles, but as Poe starts to turn around, Finn’s overwhelmed by the feeling that he’s intruding on something. For what is far from the first time, he wishes he was invisible. 

Poe stops singing when he sees Finn, his eyes wide in surprise, and Finn watches his cheeks start to go red. He looks mortified.

“I’m sorry,” Finn blurts out before Poe can say anything. 

Poe just laughs. Puts a hand to his chest and hangs his chin down towards his chest, his shoulders rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath. He shakes his head and finally looks up at Finn. He doesn’t look embarrassed anymore, he just looks amused.

“Stars above,” he mutters and Finn feels himself start to smile back. “You scared me.”

“What?” Finn starts, antagonizing. “You get yourself back on solid ground and you stop watching your back?”

“Up in the air, I have pilots watch my back for me,” Poe shoots back.

“Good,” Finn replies. “Cause you’re pretty rotten at it.”

Poe rolls his eyes and then steps forward. “You know what I’m not rotten at?”

“What?” Finn replies, relishing the playful tone they’ve taken to with one another. 

“Dancing,” Poe says and Finn feels his blood run cold. Poe swings his hips with ease that comes from years and years of being allowed to do so. And he’s right, he’s really not rotten at it. He moves closer and then reaches his hand out. “Wanna learn?”

“To dance?” Finn asks dumbly. He regrets it immediately when Poe rolls his eyes, because of course, yes, to dance. What else could he have meant? “I’ve never done it before,” Finn says quickly, before Poe can poke fun. 

“No kidding,” Poe replies sarcastically. “That’s why I want to teach you.”

Finn feels his cheeks start to get hot. “Why,” he stammers. “Why should I know how to dance? I don’t have anybody to dance with.”

Poe dramatically holds his hand to his chest like he’s been hit by something. “Ouch.”

“Well, there’s you,” Finn corrects, trying to assuage any hurt feelings. 

“Oh, there’s me now?” Poe says playfully. “I didn’t know I could turn invisible and back on command. We should really tell the General about this new little trick of mine.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Finn says. 

“I know,” Poe says reassuringly. He smiles. He’s still trying to be reassuring, but Finn sees something else in his expression. A sadness, or maybe a disappointment, rather. He turns back towards his music player, makes to turn it off, but Finn stops him. 

“Keep it on,” he says. Poe stops, looks over his shoulder. “I like it,” Finn explains. 

“Okay,” Poe says, smiling, and turns back around. He gives Finn one more reassuring smile and then goes back to the pile of clothes on his bed. He folds them, piling them neatly, and begins to sing again. He’s good at it. If he hadn’t been a soldier, he probably could have been a musician. For some reason, Finn thinks it should be jarring; they’re at war after all and the word ‘beautiful’ and ‘harmonious’ sit wrong on his tongue, but when he watches Poe--listens to him--he can’t swallow those words down. 

“Who taught you?” Finn asks. 

Poe doesn’t turn towards him, but Finn sees something change in his disposition. Only for a moment before he starts to smile and a sort of warmth fills the room again. “Holovids, mostly,” he says. He nods at the memories. “Or my friends.” He pauses. “My parents.”

“Your parents,” Finn echoes back and he hates the way he can hear his own longing in his voice. He knows that Poe hears it too, the unspoken question-- _ what was that like?-- _ envelops them. Poe turns towards him and nods. Finn can see how much Poe wants to make him feel better, though he can tell that he’s treading lightly, not really knowing what Finn wants to hear and what might be too much. 

“They used to dance after either of them came home from missions with the Rebellion,” he smiles again, sadly this time, but now allowing his own sadness to hinder happy memories. “They were good at it. And they loved doing it.”

Finn imagines Kes Dameron, at home on Yavin IV, never getting that homecoming dance with Shara. He imagines that immortal longing that could never be satisfied. He feels anxiety start to rise within him; a sort of claustrophobia that comes with not being to get what you need. Finn imagines what it would feel like to reach out for Rey, or Poe, and not ever being able to actually touch them again. He feels his chest start to heave. And Poe’s  _ right kriffin’ there _ . He shouldn’t fear the way it would feel to live in a world without his friends in it, he should reach out and hold onto them for dear life while they’re still around. 

So he reaches out and touches Poe’s wrist. Poe looks down at their hands and then up at him. He looks suddenly nervous. It’s an expression that Finn knows not too many people in the Resistance get to see the greatest pilot in the galaxy. 

“Teach me,” Finn says. Poe looks him right in the eye, swallows hard, and then nods, steeling himself. “I wanna learn.”

Poe maneuvers his hand. Finn’s not just touching his rest now; they’re holding hands. And Finn knows that he’s asked for this, but the rush that courses through him at the touch still takes him by surprise. He watches Poe, watches the way his eyes dart from their hands, down to the floor. It’s so unbelievably endearing that, in spite of himself, in spite of all the nerves, Finn smiles. He smiles and keeps his eyes locked on Poe’s until Poe finally looks up at him. He looks like he has the air knocked right out of him. He licks his lips nervously and laughs. But he’s keeping his eyes on Finn. 

“So,” he starts. He clears his throat and smiles when he sees Finn’s still smiling down at him. “You put your other hand here.” Finn feels a hand lightly touch his waist and then pull slightly away. “Is that okay?” Poe asks. Finn holds his breath and then nods before he mirrors Poe’s position. Then Poe’s hand leaves his waist and drapes over his shoulder. “There,” he says and Finn feels him relax under his touch. 

It feels so good, standing here, his hand on Poe’s waist, that the actual dancing part, the  _ moving around _ seems like it might ruin it. He wants to stay here, close to Poe, feeling safer and more comfortable than he thinks he ever has before. Except maybe with Rey. And he decides then and there: he wants to do this with Rey too. If she’d let him. 

“Take a step backwards,” Poe instructs softly. Finn does and Poe steps forward with him. He puts his hand on Finn’s, pressing it firmer against his waist. “Bring me with you.” He smiles, looking down at their feet. “Good. Now to the left.” Finn side-steps to the left and feels Poe put his hand on top of his again. “Don’t forget about me,” he says. 

“Why am I leading you?” Finn asks. “You’re the one that’s supposed to know what you’re doing.” He laughs and does what he thinks comes next: side-steps to the right, keeping his hand tight on Poe’s waist and pulling him along. 

“You’re doing fine,” Poe says through a smile. “And besides,” he continues. Finn feels Poe squeeze his hand, but he doesn’t know if Poe did it on purpose. “You’ll have to know how to lead when it really counts.”

“This doesn’t count?” Finn finds himself asking. 

“It’s just practice, pal,” Poe says, but for some reason, Finn doesn’t believe him. “So you know what you’re doing when you finally get some kriffin’ courage and ask Rey to dance.”

He sounds sad. Finn fights the urge to ask:  _ what’s wrong? _ And doesn’t really know why. He suddenly feels like he’s intruding on something, seeing a feeling in Poe that he doesn’t think he has the right to see. For some reason, he feels like he should change the subject. 

“You’re good at this,” he says. He looks down at their feet, making sure he doesn’t step on Poe’s toes. He hears Poe laugh meekly in front of him. 

“Thanks,” he says. “How’s your back?” he asks, sounding suddenly a little more sure of himself, now that they’re firmly out of whatever vulnerable territory they’d just been in. 

Finn goes to say:  _ what do you mean? _ Before it dawns on him that this sort of movement should have  _ hurt _ , or at least felt a little uncomfortable. His physical therapist had given him some stretches to and had told him to keep his movements minimal. Dancing, he was sure, was probably supposed to be off the table. But it doesn’t hurt. It just feels overwhelmingly good. Poe next to him, close enough that he can feel his breath on his chest when he laughs. “It’s fine,” he says and means the hell out of it, and wants to make sure Poe knows that it’s him that’s making it feel that way. “Really,” Finn reiterates. Poe looks up at him then, eyes slightly wide, in an expression that looks a little bit like hopefulness. 

“That’s good,” Poe says. “That’s really good.”

Finn nods. He pulls Poe in slightly closer to him and he suddenly remembers what he’s fighting for. This, right here. Knowing he’s a little fucked up, finally maybe seeing for the first time that Poe’s a little fucked up too, but finding something good in the broken space that they’ve made their own. 


End file.
